


Embers

by Rebldomakr



Series: Dark Triad [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Bias, Blood and Gore, Dark Harry, Graphic Violence, Harm to Animals, Harry's Got Issues, Homicidal Thoughts, Psychology, Slow Burn, Tags Will Be Changed Over the Progress of the Story, ish, mentions of non-con/rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11451975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebldomakr/pseuds/Rebldomakr
Summary: (Being Rewritten)Harry Potter has dealt with a muggle psychologist, his well-meaning mother, and a doting family. He's lived a sheltered life, spurred by the war and his own mother's fear that he'll do something terrible. Now, he's 11 years old. He's leaving to Hogwarts and it feels like a new beginning.There's no way to tell what might happen when he's set loose among other children his age, around professors who know not what's boiling inside of his head.





	1. Chapter One

Intrusive thoughts were involuntary and unwelcome ideas and pictures that wedged its way into your mind. Often, they are a result of OCD or depression. It could come from Body dysmorphic disorder (BDD), or a number of anxiety disorders from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder to eating disorders. Dr. Bates hadn't diagnosed Harry with any of the aforementioned disorders, though for a while he had speculated Obsessive Compulsion. The muggle man believed it was uncontrolled intrusive thoughts that caused Harry to be… **abnormal**.

Harry didn't believe that. The thoughts that would occur felt as though they were entirely his, though sometimes they came out of nowhere. He could be helping his mother cut vegetables in the kitchen and he's wonder how it'd feel to dunk the knife into his stomach, or reach over and chop off his mum's pinkie. He didn't think them as unwelcome, though. The thoughts were often very pleasant and made him smile. Was his truly  **his**  fault he liked gore?

Dr. Bates told Harry he was likely suffering from a yet-unknown mental disorder, or one he hadn't been able to name yet. He often spouted off disorders, random symptoms and names. It was all very informative. However, Harry didn't believe much of what the man said. He didn't like him (not in the slightest bit), but his mum wanted him to see the man and his dad, though he disliked it, wouldn't make him stop going. Luckily for him, St. Mungo's always provided cadavers and charmed dummies and thick textbooks on hand/non-magical medical procedures.

"You often fantasize about violent things." Dr. Bates said. "I don't believe you do so willingly, though these thoughts have taken strong control of yourself. The best thing to do is help you find ways to cope with them and find ways around this thoughts and urges." He taught Harry breathing and relaxation exercises, advised him to begin a journal then a sketchbook, helped him find non-bloody hobbies to occupy himself with. The man's heart was in a kind, good place, but Harry found he didn't really appreciate it. He felt like he didn't need to  **cope**. He did, however, feel a benefit from being able to control his urges.

Harry wished he was a  **normal**  boy. His mum wouldn't hesitate to hug him and she'd dote on him the way he's seen his muggle aunt do to her son. His dad wouldn't have to struggle and maybe he wouldn't look so worried whenever Harry was around many people. He knew they loved him  **so very much** , and he loved them too, but he sometimes worried there'd be a day they wouldn't be able to stand loving him. He was scared his own love for them, for his godfather and Remus, would fade one day and he'd become one of the psychopaths he'd read about, who cared for no one but themselves. He knew his mum was scared he was already one.

"You're going to boarding school in the Fall." Dr. Bates said. "Do you think you'll do okay?"

"I don't know." Harry truthfully responded. "Large groups of people make be a bit scared, sometimes. When they're really loud and compact, makes me feel like there's no air to breathe."

The muggle man nodded. "Social anxiety is surprisingly common, especially in sheltered children." He said.

"Do you think I'm sheltered?" Harry asked.

"Your mother has gone to extreme lengths to limit your contact with the world. You've been homeschooled until now by family friends and hired tutors. You attend lessons at a private hospital for basic medical knowledge, but you don't interact much with the other children there as they're older than yourself. Your mother never lets you out of the house very often, a result of her own mother's dose of paranoia." Dr. Bates explained. "Most of your knowledge of the world comes secondhand."

"So then I'm socially anxious?" Harry asked.

"Huge groups of people impose a stressful environment you can't handle, yet. I believe, with time and proper counseling, you'll be become a butterfly." The man smiled. "Your school should offer counselors for you to talk to. If not, feel free to write me a letter any time. No charge." He chuckled.

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Dr. Bates, do you think I'll ever be normal?" He asked.

"I know you will, one day." He said.

Harry hoped the muggle man was right.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had no counselors because mental disorders weren't common in the magical world, if they existed at all. There were no mental asylums because the traumatized were simply hospitalized, with no actual mental treatment. Harry knew many of the disorders that witches and wizards ended up with could be treated the way muggles did, they could live normal lives beyond the halls of St. Mungo's, but the magical world saw the disorders as physical ails. They're treated as such, or not at all.

He wondered where he'd be if his mum wasn't a muggleborn.

While he was being fitted for robes at  _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ , Harry met a boy named Draco Malfoy. The boy went on and on about Quidditch teams, Houses, blood status, the Sorting Ceremony (which no one knew anything about unless you had stepped through Hogwarts as a student yourself, a long-standing tradition that kept the knowledge secret), and complaints about rules against first years bringing their own broom. He was a ball of excitement and just-barely-filtered emotion that Harry found himself drawn to.

"We should meet up at Hogwarts." Draco stated. "If you're a Slytherin, that is."

Harry agreed. "I'd like that." He said. The blond boy grinned wide, obviously pleased.

His mum hadn't allowed him to purchase a familiar that day. "Best not to leave any room for temptation." She said. Harry knew, by that statement, she thought he'd kill his familiar. He wanted to tell her he didn't have the urge to kill animals anymore, especially not one he'd call his own, but he decided not to fight her. He could wait. By the frown on his father's face, he guessed he'd have a familiar by the next summer.

September First arrived quickly.

Harry said goodbye beforehand to Healer Knight at St. Mungo's, the wizard told him that summer lessons would begin in the first week of July. "My star pupil is going to be gone, what will I do?" The man sighed playfully. Harry knew the wizard had taken a strong liking to him and hoped for him to become his apprentice when he graduated from Hogwarts. Harry liked the idea very much.

Sirius had to leave for something he didn't specify, Harry assumed it had something to do with the organization his family was involved in, though they had stopped talking about it around him when they realized he was old enough to listen and remember. His godfather had promised an apology gift for not being there when he boarded the Hogwarts Express. He was always giving Harry gifts and Harry knew he'd never be able to complain about them.

His dad, mum, and Remus came with him to Platform 9 ¾. Harry walked through the barrier, with a run though also with extreme caution. His instincts screamed at him until he passed through without harm, his heart beating and mind racing. He had to remind himself,  _magic_ , even though he knew then he'd never comfortably pass through the barrier. Harry couldn't stop thinking about the barrier suddenly losing its magic when he was halfway through, becoming entombed in brick, essentially buried alive. Maybe he'd die instantly, body transformed into stone, or he'd suffocate with no oxygen to breathe and slowly decompose where no one would ever see. Harry couldn't guess which he'd prefer.

Standing before the Hogwarts Express, Harry wondered what it was going to be like away from the sheltered life he's had so far.

"Don't talk too much about dissection and anything bloody or about death." His dad told him, bending down to fix Harry's robes. "Well, okay, no, be yourself. But people can be a bit scared of stuff like that, so be careful, alright? I don't want anyone bullying you because they think you're different and they want to be cunts."

"James." His mum scolded. "What have I told you about his language?"

His dad rolled his eyes, but kept his attention mostly away from Lily. "Harry, just use discretion. Be yourself, but-"

"Don't be too much of myself." Harry finished.

"No." His dad sighed. "Be careful. People don't react well to some things. Especially muggleborns."

"I know." Harry said. His dad smiled and kissed his forehead.

"I love you." His dad said. "Have fun there."

Harry ran the tips of his fingers across his forehead and nodded. "I love you, too." He said.

Remus swooped in and tightly hugged him. "Don't be anything like your father." He spoke with false sternness. He pulled away, slightly. "I don't think Professor McGonagall can handle it."

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked. He remembered her name on his acceptance letter, the Deputy Headmistress.

"You'll meet her. She teaches Transfiguration, and your father probably still haunts her worst dreams." Remus said. He ran his fingers through Harry's hair, trying to make it appear neater. "And be nice to Hagrid. He's the groundskeeper, he'll make a good friend."

"Okay." Harry said, blandly.

Remus smiled and hugged him again. "Love you, kiddo. Write as often as you can." He said.

"Love you, too." Harry smiled.

He looked towards his mum, who gave a tense grin and a strange, loose hug.

As Harry went to board the train, his mum called out. "Be good." Her tone felt like that of a caring, concerned mother. But he knew better. She worried he was going to do something normal boys don't do.

He turned his head and nodded. "I promise." He said. If he did any of the thoughts he thought about, he'd get into trouble and could end up in Azkaban. He knew that and he definitely didn't want it.

Entering the train, Harry went inside of the first empty compartment he found. He pulled down the window and peaked out at his family.

"Goodbye!" He shouted.

Remus and James eagerly waved goodbye. His mum smiled, less tense now, and waved back. "I love you!" She yelled, sudden.

"I love you, too!" Harry's chest bubbled. He wondered if his mum was beginning to forget her mother's affection for him. He gripped the sides of the window. "Bye!" He repeated.

The train began to move. He was just one of hundreds of kids with their arms out, waving goodbye. Harry watched and waved until he couldn't see his family anymore, falling back inside of the compartment. He closed the window.

When the door slid open a minute later, a girl stared inside. Harry stared back.

"Um," She nervously shifted, foot to foot. Her bushy hair swung around with the movement.

An image of her speared over a metal spike, gagging and still alive, appeared in his mind.

"Hello." Harry welcomed her.

"Sorry." She squeaked. "I'm just looking for an empty compartment."

Harry tried to extend an arm of friendship. "You can sit here." He said.

"That's okay!" She quickly closed the compartment door and, likely, quickly walked down the train corridor.

He frowned and clasped his hands together. He wondered what he'd done wrong.

A short time later, the compartment door slid open again. This time, a red-haired boy stood there, pale-faced and obviously anxious. He had a smudge on his nose that looked like ash.

"Can I sit here?" The boy asked.

Harry nodded.

The boy looked immensely grateful and walked inside, the door sliding shut behind him though it felt like a book was being opened. Briefly, Harry wondered if Draco would luckily discover his compartment.

"Name's Ron Weasley." The boy introduced himself.

"Harry Potter." Harry said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My basic knowledge in psychology and assorted murderers will become a tool for this story. I'm going to do my very best to make this story as dark as possible, without Harry's own feelings appearing dark because, to him, these things aren't evil or bad. They're good! Imagining killing someone in a very painful fashion, yummy!
> 
> I'll be adding tags progressively to try to avoid spoilers. Some tags have been added even though they aren't included here yet, because I think people should be aware of them. I don't everyone's going to take well when Voldemort starts talking about killing every muggle in the world. If something really bad pops up in a chapter, I'll forewarn it at the beginning and also add it in the tags. There are a lot of things that might or might not happen, things that aren't even close to being determined yet, which is also why I'm adding the tags progressively as possible.


	2. Chapter Two

"I'd say you'd make a fine Ravenclaw." The Hat whispered into Harry's ears.

Harry blinked and wondered how. From what he's heard, Ravenclaws were studious bookworms. He couldn't imagine spending more than an hour a day with his nose in a book, sitting in one place for a stretch of time just  **reading**.

"Ravenclaws aren't just readers. They're endlessly curious and eager to find solutions and knowledge. Aren't you, Harry Potter?" The Sorting Hat rumbled with what must've been laughter. "You're desperate to learn about death!"

He flushed. Could the Hat see  **everything**  in his mind? "What House do I belong in then?"

"Brave as a Gryffindor…Loyal, yes, but exceptionally? As ambitious as any Slytherin, too! My, or my! What  **are**  you, Harry Potter? It's been years since I've had such trouble sorting a student, but then it was clear what he wished to be…" It trailed off.

Harry looked around the Great Hall, casting a quick look towards the first years standing in a line, waiting to be sorted themselves. Ron was looking out at the Gryffindor table. When Harry turned his eyes over to the Slytherin table, his eyes met with Draco's.

They both seemed like very good, potential friends. Harry also knew they despised each other and he didn't know how he'd manage to make them be friends. He supposed he could let the Hat decide.

"Well, well! I've made my mind up, Potter!" The Hat chortled. "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry slid off of the stool and took of the Hat. He handed it back to Professor McGonagall. Before he stepped towards the Slytherin table, he looked back at Ron Weasley and offered a smile.

The boy looked at him, perplexed, before smiling painfully back.

Harry sat down next to Draco, who seemed gleeful. "I knew it." He said immediately.

"Knew what?" Harry asked.

"That you were going to be in Slytherin, obviously." Draco rolled his eyes. "I've already introduced you to Crabbe and Goyle," He gestured towards the two boys who were sitting across from them. "That's Theodore Nott," He pointed. "Pansy Parkinson. Daphne Greengrass. Over there, is Marcus Flint. He's the Quidditch captain and my father knows his father."

"Is that good?" Harry wondered.

Draco looked at him like he was incredibly stupid. "Certainly not fit to be a Ravenclaw." He muttered.

"The Hat thought I'd be a good one." Harry said.

"Must be more than I'm seeing." Draco said. "It is good, by the way. Means next year, it'll be easier for me to get on the team. Can't wait until I can play Quidditch."

"I've played it a lot with my dad and godfather." Harry said. "But I don't know if I'm any good." And, he didn't quite enjoy it. It wasn't something he was interested in very much, though the feeling of flying is quite nice.

"Next year, we'll both try out then." Draco said, determined.

The Sorting Ceremony had continued while they'd been talking. Harry looked up at Professor McGonagall in time for her to shout, "Weasley, Ron!" The boy moved quickly from the few first years and sat down on the stool, pulling the Sorting Hat on proudly.

"Gryffindor." Draco muttered.

"You never know." Harry said.

"Weasley's are Gryffindors." Draco rolled his eyes.

"My entire family is made up of Gryffindors." Harry said. "I don't understand how someone's House can be linked to blood. I assume it's personality and someone's own inner-workings. I don't believe personality is inherited."

Though, potentially, maybe he was. Harry thought it'd require further thought. Briefly, his mind conjured the image of magical child being born with strangely colored organs to suit the House they'd be sorted in. He was happy that wasn't yet, he liked all the fleshy pinks and reds.

"I guess." Draco sighed. Harry blinked, slightly surprised the blond boy had responded.

From where he was sitting, Harry was able to see the mouth-like seam in the Hat open. He gave out one last hope Ron would be sorted into Slytherin. The boy was much like Draco, flowing barely-filtered emotion, which he thought would be the perfect learning experience. He could learn from either one, but he'd prefer both.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Sorting Hat screeched.

Harry sighed. He supposed the Hat chose what was best, otherwise it wouldn't be trusted to sort the students every year.

"I knew it." Draco said proudly.

The last to be sorted was Blaise Zabini, who came to sit at the Slytherin table. Draco must have known the boy because he'd said a quick greeting and a congratulations, to which Zabini had responded with, "Like I'd be anywhere else."

Harry wondered if it was prestigious to be in Slytherin to some, though many others, such as his own family, held contempt for the House. He supposed he should've fought the Hat about being sorted into the House, but he hadn't thought of it at the time. He began to worry what his mum would think of his Sorting.

He had been paying so little attention, Harry hadn't heard whatever the Headmaster had said- drawn out his thoughts by noisy clapping and cheering.

"What did he say?" Harry asked Draco. "I wasn't paying any attention."

"Gibberish." Draco declared. "He said nitwit, blubber, and two other words I don't care to remember. Then he just sat down. My father does say the old man's mad."

"My parents know him. They've never he's mad." Harry said. Dr. Bates had once told what he saw the world was different than what other people saw. He had always thought people all saw he world the same way, except for him. Perhaps, people themselves were divided in what they saw, but, then, why was the way  **he**  saw it odd? He found himself growing even more confused.

"It depends on politics." Theodore Nott declared from Gregory Goyle's left."Your parents probably agree with him, politically, so they like him and say he's perfectly great. Draco's father doesn't agree with him politically, so he doesn't like him and calls him mad."

"Oh." Harry said.

Looking down at the table, which had filled up with food, Harry decided not to think too much on this matter.

He thought he was going to learn a lot from the boys around him. He couldn't wait.

* * *

'Initium novum' was Latin for 'New beginning', according to Draco. It was also the password into the Slytherin common room and dormitories. Buried deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts Castle, was the House of Slytherin's home. Harry thought it rang true with the House animal, a snake. Snakes often lived underground or underneath things. The House of Slytherin lived underground, beneath much of the castle. It fit.

Harry was to sleep in a dormitory with five other boys. The dorm room was quite massive, everyone had their desk, four-poster bed, and shelf that was separated by thick green curtains that hung from the ceilings, wrapping around the spaces in a demented half-oval against the wall. Though, they had to share a bathroom. Luckily the bathroom had shower and toilet stalls, but it was still quite unnerving. Everything inside the bathroom was either silver or carved white marble, but Harry would prefer a disgusting bathroom all to himself.

The first morning, Harry had the sudden urge to take his hairbrush and shove own Blaise Zabini's throat. He counted to twelve, took slow, deep breaths, and instead simply brushed his hair before taking his things back to his trunk.

He noticed Blaise stared at him, with cautious eyes that reminded him of his mum's whenever he was given something sharp. He thought he must be imagining it, there was no way Blaise would tell there anything odd about him.  **Yet**.

Before leaving to breakfast, and desperately trying to ignore Crabbe and Goyle walking around without shirts ( _how easy it'd be to gut them_ ), Harry wrote short letters to his parents, Remus, and Sirius. He hadn't been told not to write Sirius, so he thought it'd be fine. He hesitated only slightly to tell them he'd been sorted into Slytherin. He had gone down to the school owlery, borrowing three owls to send out the letters. He was very grateful the school had so many owls, free for the students to use.

There was much Harry had to get used to, at Hogwarts.

The ghosts weren't very bothersome, thankfully. Peeves was quite annoying, the poltergeist had, for some reason, decided to avoid him. He didn't find it odd, Peeves left many of the Slytherins alone. Harry tried asking one or two for directions when he'd gotten lost Hogwarts' great corridors and many stairways, but they either ignored him or gave him unhelpful information such as, "Oh, my, turn at Abigail's portrait down that way and take a few rights!" Or "I think if you go straight from here and go up then down some stairs, you'll find it."

When Draco wasn't looking, Harry punched the wall. His knuckled tingled with pain, but it made him feel slightly better. He desperately wished for his medical kit and a warm animal.

His classes weren't as interesting as he'd hoped they'd be. He preferred his lessons at St. Mungo's.

He attended Herbology in the greenhouses. Harry did like this class, having gardened for so long. It was one of the few things he held an interest in. Herbology was not, however, gardening. A tad harder, as he was handling herbs essential for potions and rituals, not pretty flowers. He asked many questions and the Herbology professor, Professor Sprout, was very eager to answer even his strangest of questions. Harry was also one of the only Slytherins in the class who had no problem getting dirt on himself, Draco was extraordinarily happy to enlist him to do his dirty talk.

Between his classes and adjusting, Harry had gotten a response from his dad on Wednesday morning. He had felt relieved, though he worried his family's reaction to his Sorting. Not for the first time, he wished he had argued with the Sorting Hat.

He picked off the envelope and tore it open and pulled out the letter. He did hesitate then, wondering briefly if it was his mother telling him to never come home again or his father telling him with half-meant reassurances that they still loved him, but then he unfolded the parchment and read;

_Dear Harry,_

_Sirius and I had a bet going against Remus. We thought you'd be Gryffindor, but Remus swore Ravenclaw. We all lost, so no one's lost any gold. I'm surprised you've made it into the Slytherin House. Has anyone given you any trouble? Are you making friends? If someone's being mean, go to Professor McGonagall. I know she'll help, even if you aren't in her House._

_Be careful in Slytherin. The Head of House is Severus Snape, as you obviously already know. I gave him the worst when we went to school together, he doesn't like me very much. If he gives you too much trouble, write me and I'll try to handle it, but still try to avoid to his wrath. It won't be good to get on his bad side. Normally, he's very biased towards Slytherins, but I can't guess how he'll react to you._

_Your mum and I are making up a care package to send to you for Friday morning. I hope you enjoy it!_

_Love forever,  
Dad_

"From your parents?" Draco asked.

"My dad." Harry said, folding the letter and sticking it back inside of its envelope.

On Thursday night, he and the Slytherins gathered in the Astronomy Tower to study the skies. Typically, he copied everything off of Draco there. "My mother's family are all natural astronomers." He had said. Harry was tempted to believe him, as Draco had to have inherited the trait.

Harry spent History of Magic imagining creative ways to drain blood from the human body, sketching out memorized maps of veins instead of listening. The professor was a ghost, Professor Binns, who had died in a staff room fire. His voice was both tiring and enraging, so he tried not to listen and instead copied Draco's notes after class. So did Crabbe and Goyle, who used the class time to catch up on their nap hours.

Charms was purely theory, as was Transfiguration. Harry realized it might become usual of him to simply copy notes off of Draco, for he had little interest in actually paying attention to any of his professors speak or read chapters out of his books. Sadly, Professor McGonagall caught him staring at blank parchment took a point away from his House. She made him finish his notes before allowing him to join the rest of the class in turning a matchstick into a needle.

He was quite proud he had managed to transform the match by the end of the class. It was very easy to imagine a needle. Harry had barely stopped himself from jamming it into the nearest hand that wasn't his own before Professor McGonagall saw it and congratulated him. "A point to Slytherin, good job, Mr. Potter. I do expect you take notes as you should, however, despite any success you make in your spell-work." She said.

On Thursday night, he dreamt of a bleeding cat head yowling at him as he tore into the body with knives-for-fingers.

In the morning, Draco told him they had potions with the Gryffindor House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the second version of this chapter! The first one hadn't been very good, I thought, so I changed it around. I think this is a little better, and I hope it isn't total garbage but idk. I'm scared I'm giving Harry TOO much emotion in certain things, not displaying him right, or properly showing what I see in my mind...I hope y'all think it's alright because I honestly I have no goddamn clue.
> 
> Idk when I'm gonna reveal the causes of certain things, what happened to the prophecy and etc., but I know it's going to happen very progressively. I'm taking some direction from the books, but just enough to fit into the correct timeline of things that aren't different even with all that's different, y'know? Plus, it gives me something to go off of
> 
> The third chapter is already in the words. I expect it to be done within the next few days. Right now, however, it's 3:41 am and I'm not entirely certain I'm typing everything the way it should be lmao


	3. Chapter Three

On Friday morning, when the hundreds of owls started to swoop inside, a half-black barn owl dunked and dropped a small package with an envelope attached to the top. The owl landed in front of him and stole a piece of bacon off of his plate.

"What you think your parents sent you?" Draco asked, already having unwrapped his own daily care package. His mother sent him candies, baked pastries, magazines, and seemingly random little objects she thought he'd enjoy. Harry didn't know where the boy put everything.

"I don't know." Harry admitted, unwrapping it carefully.

Draco let Crabbe and Goyle pick food out of his package. "Want anything?" He offered.

"No thank you." Harry said.

Inside of his package, he found an assortment of lollipops, a package of Every Flavor Beans, a few Chocolate Frogs, and, buried underneath a Herbology magazine, a wide wooden box.

"What's that?" Draco asked, peering inside. He quickly became distracted. "Harry, really? Herbology? Can I have the Chocolate Frogs?"

Harry nodded. Draco grinned and swiped all three, tossing one each to Crabbe and Goyle. Both of the gluttonous boys caught them eagerly, adding them to their pile of sweets. Harry felt dim amusement.

He looked back inside of the package and ran his fingers across the wooden box. He knew very well his mum hadn't sent it, but why would his dad?

' _There's plenty of familiars around the castle._ ' His mind whispered. ' _And now you have tools. Why can't you play?_ ' He thought of the owlery.

"Hey, you okay?" Draco questioned.

Harry blinked. He turned to stare at him. "What?"

"Your face got all weird. Like," Draco gestured at him. "I don't know. Just, weird. Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Harry said. "I'm good. Thank you." He gave a quick smile.

Draco shrugged. "Okay. Come on, we have time to drop the packages in the dormitory before class." He said.

Harry nodded and stood.

Double Potions with the Gryffindors came first for the day. Draco rambled on about how stupid Professor Quirrell was, how much better it'd be if Professor Snape was the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Harry half-listened, mind occupied with his box and eyes catching every familiar hanging around their owner.

Suddenly, Harry became curious. "Do you know Professor Snape?" He asked.

"Father knows him. He visits the manor sometimes." Draco said. "Father hired him to tutor me last summer. He's really strict, but he's brilliant. Unlike Professor Quirrell, the stuttering buffoon." Harry thought anyone would be better than Quirrell.

Potions was held inside of one of the dungeons, not very far away from the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories. The walls were lined with  _complete_  animals inside of glass jars, which amazed Harry. He wondered if the professor was like him. He wasn't able to keep himself from tapping one of the jars.

"Please keep your hands to yourself."

Harry looked at Professor Snape, who had suddenly appeared next to him with a heavy glare. Despite being the Head of the House of Slytherin, Harry hadn't seen him very much except at mealtimes. Draco said he was brilliant, and Harry thought he could agree. "Why do you preserve the entire animal?" He asked.

"To preserve certain anything useful internally I haven't bothered to remove." Snape answered, snappish.

"Wouldn't that damage the usefulness then? Why not remove them, then preserve them?" Harry asked.

"The liquid inside of the jars keeps the animals in a state before death. It would, however, damage anything internal." Snape grunted, black eyes examining him carefully. " **Why**  are you so curious?"

"I preserve organs a lot." Harry admitted. "I didn't know there was a way to preserve an entire animal. These are very pretty, though I prefer just the organs myself, but then they aren't very useful except for being nice to look at."

Professor Snape's widened slightly before narrowing. "Boy, these aren't meant to be  **pretty**."

"Oh. It's just for your potions then?" Harry asked. It wasn't like him, then. It was just for the job, not the hobby.

"Yes." The man said.

"Oh." Harry repeated. He shrugged. "Okay, then. I'm going to go sit down, sir." He then walked over to Draco, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

Draco shoved his shoulder. Harry felt offended. "What was that for?" He rubbed the spot, frowning.

"Whenever I asked him a question, he'd insult me." Draco said. "I don't think he did once."

Harry shrugged.

Professor Snape took roll at the beginning of class. Draco whispered to him which names weren't pureblood, and occasionally if his father knew someone in their family. He didn't understand why, but Draco thought these things were very important. Harry assumed they were, because the rules and gossip Draco's mouth flowed with often came out of other Slytherins. It contradicted, though, because his family never spoke much about any of it and cared for nothing if you halfblood, pureblood, or a muggleborn.

When he finished, his began a long speech that seemed rehearsed.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making, as there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Professor Snape finished his speech with a sweeping look across the room.

For a moment, their eyes met. The professor's eyes narrowed, calculating, suspicious.  **Cautious**.

"Potter," Snape called. "What is the different between wolfsbane and monkshood?"

"They're the same plant." Harry answered immediately. He knew a little about it, because his mum used it to brew Remus' Wolfsbane Potion.

"Good, a point to Slytherin." Snape declared.

Draco nudged Harry, giving a wide, approving grin.

"Now, Potter, let's see if that was a  **fluke**. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape asked.

Harry tilted his head. He said. By pure luck, he knew the answer. "A sleeping draught."He said. The Draught of Living Death was used for hand surgeries to put the patient to sleep. With it, they were given two to three doses of Numbing Potion leading up to the surgery.

"The Draught of Living Death, to be exact. Another point to Slytherin." Snape rewarded. "Mr. Malfoy, since you seem to pleased, care to tell me where I could find a bezoar?"

Draco perked, sticking his nose in the air. "The stomach of a goat, sir." He said.

"Name one of its purposes." Snape ordered.

"It can cure most poisons." Draco said.

"Point to Slytherin." He said. Looking pleased, Snape turned his eyes towards the Gryffindors. Harry noticed Ron Weasley and two other Gryffindors looked very annoyed, and one, which he remembered as 'mudblood' thanks to Draco's previous commentary, looked disappointed. She must've wanted to answer a question herself.

Professor Snape set them out into pairs to begin brewing a potion to cure boils. Another shine of good luck came to Harry, he was paired with Draco.

"Crush the fangs for me." Draco said, handing Harry his mortar and pestle. He imagined crushing a finger inside of the mortar, wondered if it would look like wet snow with chunks of flesh as the ice and the blood as water. Or, if it'd come out as a paste. He had never crushed anything before and, suddenly, he wanted to. Luckily for him, he got to crush teeth. Wasn't quite the same as meat though.

For the entire process of brewing the potion, Harry simply obeyed what Draco told him to do. He crushed the fangs into fine powder, lit the fire underneath the cauldron, and simply watched while Draco stirred.

"Good." Snape complimented just as Harry removed the cauldron from the fire. "Malfoy, unlike most  **others**  in this class, you took the cauldron off just in time before you ruined the effects of the horned slugs."

"Harry helped a lot, too." Draco supplied.

Snape turned his eyes towards him, as though he didn't quite believe it.

A loud hissing filled the dungeon. Harry turned to look at two Gryffindors as their cauldron melted and their potion spewed green smoke. Harry quickly jumped on top of his stool, as did everyone else in the class. The potion burned into the shoes of those who weren't quick enough to avoid the quickly-spreading, acidic creation.

One of the Gryffindors had gotten completely drenched in the potion, quickly sprouting angry red boils. Snape swooped in and angrily cleaned the ruined potion. "You added the porcupine quills before removing the cauldron off the fire, didn't you?" He questioned.

The Gryffindor whined and nodded.

Snape sneered. "Take him to the Hospital Wing!" He ordered another Gryffindor, who quickly rushed to Neville's aid.

The next hour was very uneventful. Draco finished their potion, likely earning them both a brilliant grade, and Harry turned a sample vial labeled with their names to Professor Snape. The class was given instructions to read up on the potion they'd be brewing next week; Sleeping Draught. Far simpler than the Draught of Living Death.

"I think this'll be my favorite class." Draco declared as they left.

"I like Herbology." Harry said.

"Defense would be better if it wasn't taught by Quirrell. Luckily, he probably won't be here next year." Draco said. "Herbology's okay."

"Why don't you think Professor Quirrell will be here next year?" Harry asked.

"No Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor has lasted more than a year since, like, the 1950's." Draco said. "No one really knows why, but it's a curse, probably placed by some professor who got fired."

Harry thought that was curious. "Do they die?" He asked.

" **Sometimes** ," Draco said. "Sometimes, they go missing, or they quit, or something happens to them or someone they know. Shocking, that people are still taking the job." Harry had to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the third chapter! I feel like the story is pretty damn boring tbh. But I've put in a little bit of conflict in the next chapter and something major is gonna occur in the fifth chapter. I've got the greater chunk of Harry's first year figured out, now I'm figuring out what I'm gonna have him go through in his second year. I've decided something will happen during the summer Voldemort-related, too. I'm thinking of putting in a dueling competition during his second year, sponsored by the Ministry of Magic (of course), not quite sure yet... Agh, a lot of this story is totally undecided, but there's certain things that I WANT to happen and what I believe NEEDS to happen and just so much and it's like, agh
> 
> This chapter was only 1.6k words. Not too bad, I suppose, but I did want it to be longer. Ah, what can ya do?
> 
> fun fact of the day? FUN FUCKING FACTS OF THE DAY (because this is a story where Harry's got some mental problems, let's hear about people who had mental problems, officially diagnosed or suspected)
> 
> *Ted Bundy's first dog was a collie named Lassie.
> 
> *Jeffrey Dahmer loved animals, he had an aquarium and one of the few photos of him smiling is when he was petting his grandmother's cat.
> 
> *Long before becoming a serial killer, Richard Ramirez would go hunting and feed the raw meat to his dog
> 
> *One of the Columbine shooters, Eric Harris, had a dog that had trouble with seizures. The other Columbine shooter, Dylan Klebold, would take his shift at the pizza place they both worked at so he could be with his dog.


	4. Chapter Four

Harry closed the curtain tightly around his section in the dormitory. He had already said goodnight to Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. He didn't really talk with the other Slytherin boys, so he didn't bother to wish them a well night's rest.

Pulling out the package his parents had sent him, he dunked the candy onto his bed and pulled out the wooden box. His dad must have been the one to pack it, he knew there was no way his mum would've even considered sending him it. Still, Harry wondered why his dad had sent it to him.

He opened the box and smiled. Inside, glinted the steel and silver of a variation of knife-life instruments. Vials of disinfectants and healing salves rested to the side of the box, the corks differently colored as a way to label them. It was the kit Harry had made himself, created out of tools he'd gotten from a number of sources.

Running his fingers across the larger retractor, Harry pushed against the cloth lining of the box before reaching the long, smooth-edged knife. It could delicately cut through the sternum to reach the heart. Healer Knight used a different tool whenever he worked on cadavers to show him, utilizing a saw-like blade instead.

He picked out a scalpel, the blade designed specifically to make shallow incisions into the skin. It was a rarely used tool, typically used in hand surgeries that required to only the skin itself and not graze the flesh. A cosmetic tool, mostly, to aid the removal discolored or 'imperfect' areas. Harry placed it back inside and picked up his favorite.

Another scalpel, but one meant for deeper incisions. Harry used it even when it'd make it more difficult for the task at hand. He had once ruined one of the animals his godfather had brought to him- a stillborn rabbit. He had wanted to get to the heart, his favorite organ in any living creature, but he had gotten distracted. After he'd begun, the rabbit was barely held together by small links of flesh. It had to be thrown away.

Harry ran the blade across the palm of his hand and watched his blood prickle out. He let it bleed for a minute, until it slowed, before he wiped it clean, disinfecting it then rubbing a healing salve into it. The cut was gone in seconds, not even a scar left behind.

* * *

The weekend had passed by drowsily. Harry finished his Transfiguration homework, played chess with Draco (imagined jamming the Black Queen into Draco's right eye and the White Queen into the left), and watched two Slytherins duel over the seat closest to the fireplace. It was becoming obvious, very quickly, that Slytherins would duel over anything. They seemed to take everything personally. Harry didn't understand why the Sorting Hat had put him among these people, but he supposed the enchanted talking hat who could read minds and had existed for centuries probably knew more than him.

Remus and Sirius had both sent him letters over the weekend. Remus warned him against procrastination and told him about his newest attempt at a novel, stating he was going to try a romance novel next. ' _I think it'll do loads better than my last! People like romance._ ' Remus had wrote. Sirius himself mostly rambled uselessly on about meaningless details of what he's been doing, though he carefully maneuvered around where he was exactly and why he was there, instead promising metal figurines and ornately covered books from the nearby souq. Harry had written back immediately.

His dad had also sent him a small note, asking questions about if he's made any friends or enemies, how his classes were going, and whether or not he liked being at Hogwarts. Harry exaggerated to make it seem he was talking to more than just Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle every day. He thought it'd make his dad feel better about him being away. (he was right)

On Monday morning, Draco told Harry flying lessons would begin on Thursday. "We'll be spending it with Gryffindors." Draco added, sounding displeased.

"I already know how to fly a broom." Harry said.

"So do I, and pretty much everyone here, but it's a class meant for mudbloods and unlucky kids who've never rode a broom." Draco said. "Hogwarts would be much better if mudbloods didn't attend it."

"Where would they go, then?" Harry asked.

"Who cares?" Draco said, rolling his eyes. "They're mudbloods, Harry."

"My mum's a mudblood." Harry pointed out.

"So?" Draco shrugged. "You aren't. And, you're descended from the Potter's. Even though the Potter's aren't in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the family is still awfully pure and ancient. They've married into the Black family, after all, and the Black's didn't just let blood come into their tree unless they thought it was pure enough."

Harry was rather perplexed. "Sacred Twenty-Eight?" He asked.

"The purest twenty-eight families in Great Britain." Draco explained. "Though, the Weasley's are a part of it. Despite being the bloodtraitors they are. Can't love mudbloods too much, since there isn't a single one in their tree, though."

"If you care so much about pure blood, why are you my friend?" Harry asked.

Draco sighed. "Harry, you're a halfblood, part of a wealthy and notable pureblood family. Well, plus, you're the heir to the House of Black." He said.

"I am?" Harry hadn't known he was the heir to anything, except for whatever the Potter family had gathering dust at unknown destinations and in Gringotts vaults.

"Two years ago, the current Lord of the House of Black, Sirius Black, signed you to be his heir. By tradition, these things go the eldest son closest to the main line. I believe after Sirius Black, it's Regulus Black, then myself." Draco explained. "When it happened, my Aunt Bellatrix threw a horrid fit. She's still trying to fight it, she wants it herself."

"I didn't know." Harry said. "I wonder why he hasn't told me."

"He's your godfather, isn't he?" Draco asked. Harry nodded. "Yeah, I thought my Aunt Bellatrix had said so but I couldn't remember it right. Even if he has a son, you're still the heir!"

"So, you're okay with being my friend because I'm the heir to the House of Black." Harry said.

"You're also from an old pureblood line, which has some prominence and power in the Ministry of Magic. It's a fairly common name in Wizarding history. The only stain you've got is the impurity from your mudblood mother." Draco said.

Harry frowned. "Could you call her a muggleborn, please? She is my mum." He didn't quite care what people were called, but he thought his mum deserved respect.

"Fine. Everyone else is still a mudblood." Draco said.

"I'm okay with that." Harry said. "Wait, why don't you think he hasn't told me?"

"I don't know." Draco shrugged. "That's why I ignored the question."

* * *

Thursday morning, Harry was sitting at his normal seat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Draco was eating a plate full of eggs and steak, something he insisted was a proper breakfast, while Harry went through a bowl of mixed fruit. Life at Hogwarts was very pleasant; the castle had quickly become a home away from home.

"Some stitches are made from catgut." Harry suddenly declared.

"I'm eating." Draco said.

"Our body absorbs it, see. They're called sutures and sutures are either absorbable or non-absorbable. The non-absorbable sutures are for when the stitches are needed in stressful places, like the stomach or inside the heart. Of course," Harry said. "Sutures aren't needed very often, since we have magic. Whatever surgeries that need to be performed, whatever cuts made are simply healed with the wave of a wand or the application of a salve."

"Catgut." Draco repeated. "Remind me to never get these sutures. What are they for, again?"

"After surgeries, when you're cut open for some medical reason. That's if the Healer performs a hand surgery. Magical surgeries are considered more practical. Not as invasive, I suppose. There's no knives cutting inside, just magic doing its work." Harry said.

"Trivia, what fun." Draco tapped his fork against his plate.

Later that afternoon, they went to a patch of land on the opposite end of the grounds, away from the Forbidden Forest. The other Slytherins were already there; the first year Slytherins seemed to go everywhere together, with the exception of Harry and the three boys he was always with. They came and went in their  **own**  group, something Harry liked very much.

The Gryffindors arrived shortly after. Harry noticed Ron Weasley immediately. The boy was very noticeable, much like Draco. They both stuck out like sore thumbs, no matter how big of a crowd they were in.

"School brooms," Draco said distastefully. He was talking about the line of about twenty brooms laying flat on the grass. He shot a look at Ron, seemingly thinking something awfully cruel because he gained a nasty smirk. "I don't think anyone even uses these anymore." He proclaimed.

Harry examined them. "Cleansweeps. Not that bad." He said.

"They belong in the nineteen-forties." Draco said.

"Probably, but it's just to practice." Harry poked one of the brooms with his foot. "I think there's one of these in the shed back home."

"My father promised me a Nimbus 2001 for my birthday." Draco said. "I've got a Nimbus 1700."

"Dad gave me a Nimbus 2000 for my birthday in the summer." Harry said. "He wants me to like Quidditch more, but I don't care that much for it. I like flying though."

"Quidditch is the best sport." Draco said. "Though, I like broom races."

"I've been to a few, my godfather takes me." Harry liked attending races. Sirius would place outrageous bets and, somehow, always win. People were always crashing into something- the ground, the walls, each other- and it was awfully amusing.

"Mother hates them. I've only been to one!" Draco complained. "I've been to the Quidditch World Cup Finals in 1990 and 1986, and my father's already bought tickets to the 1994 finals."

Madam Hooch arrived then. "What are you all doing, just standing around? Get to a broom!"

After everyone had chosen a broom, Harry's thoughts suddenly filled with brooms standing up with his classmates impaled down on them. He wondered if he could achieve what Vlad Dracula had with wood. He'd want them to remain  **alive** , and examining the wood on the broomsticks, he saw internal splinters and bleeding that'd prevent the three-day long agony that they'd deserve (that he wanted).

"Potter!"

Harry jumped and looked up at Madam Hooch. She stared at him. "Didn't you hear me? Put your right hand over your broom and say 'Up'." She said. He realized everyone else had already begun.

He raised his right hand over the broom. "Up." He said. It jumped up into his hand immediately.

Once everyone had gotten their broom up, Madam Hooch went around showing everyone how to ride it without falling off. She corrected grips, including Draco's. The boy looked extremely annoyed after being corrected and Harry had to smile.

Draco saw the smile and scowled. "Shut up, Harry." He snapped.

"I didn't say anything." Harry tilted his head, confused.

"I'll hex you." Draco said.

"You're joking. I've seen your hex work, it's total crap." Harry said.

Before Draco could grow anymore annoyed with him, sadly because Harry found Draco's annoyance funny, Madam Hooch whistled.

"Good, now that's everyone's listening." She sent a look towards him. Harry blinked. "I want everyone to kick off the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward." Hooch swept her eyes around and nodded. "On my whistle!" Three, two,-"

A Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom, suddenly pushed up into the air before Madam Hooch had even brought the whistle to her lips. Harry watched in amazement as he flew straight up into the air, quicker and quicker, higher and higher. He imagined the boy falling and breaking his neck, or perhaps he'd get high enough when he fell there'd be a great splatter of blood.

"Come back, boy!" Hooch screamed.

Harry saw the very moment the Gryffindor boy looked down and lost his grip, sliding sideways off of his broom. In what seemed like slow motion, he fell. He crashed into the ground, Harry heard the cracking sound of a bone breaking. When he heard the boy groan, he shoved his disappointment down. He had no reason to want the boy dead.

Madam Hooch went straight towards the boy, helping him up and muttering under her breath. He heard her speak, "Broken wrist." Once she had him standing, she turned to the class and said, "None of you move while I take this boy to the Hopsital Wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'." She turned back to Longbottom, her voice suddenly became softer. "Come on, dear."

Draco managed to hold in his laughter until they were out of earshot.

"Did you see his face?" He sounded absolutely delighted.

"Hurts to break your wrist. Could've been worse. He hadn't gotten far up enough though." Harry said.

"Would've been a shame if he broke something more." Draco snickered.

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy!" Ron snarled.

Draco stepped closer to the ginger Gryffindor. "What are you going to do, bloodtraitor? Touch me and try to rub off your germs?" He said, sneering. "Well, hopefully not too many. You  **do**  shower, right? Your family isn't so poor they can afford running water, so you should know how!"

Ron scowled and stepped forward, behind him were two other Gryffindors that looked eager to jump into a fight. "Shut it, Malfoy!"

"I repeat, what are  **you**  going to do? Try to rub your poorness on me?" Draco said, folding his arms.

Harry didn't know what exactly happened next. He was fond of Draco as a friend, it was understandable he didn't want to see him hurt. Instinct must've taken out. One moment, he was standing next to Crabbe watching Draco and Ron inch closer and yell at each other. He saw Ron raise his hand, drawing it into a fist, and he went blank- just for a moment. When the world colored again, his own fist had slammed against the side of Ron's head, near his ear.

Then, Ron was on the ground, eyes rolled up in his head and completely still.

"What did you do to him?" Hermione Granger shrieked. Everyone was staring, wide-eyed and horrified.

Harry stared down at Ron. "I don't think I hit him hard enough to kill him." He said, slowly. At most, Ron's brain had squished against one side of his skull and he was simply knocked out. Next time, he thought, he should go for the jaw.

"Kill him?!"

"Merlin!"

He stepped back, before stepping back again and bending down. He checked for a pulse and found one, beating normally. "He's fine." Harry said. "Um, I'll take him to the Hospital Wing." He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle. "Can you help me?" He asked. They both nodded.

As Harry hoisted Ron into Goyle's arms, he saw Draco staring at him- as wide-eyed as the others in the class, but he was stuck stunned and amazed rather than almost fearful.

* * *

"You saw Mr. Weasley about to strike Mr. Malfoy, so you decided to hit him." Professor McGonagall sounded as though she had heard a similar story many times before, her eyes screaming disapproval.

Harry glanced at Professor Snape, then back at her. He nodded. "I made sure I hadn't hurt him, you know,  **badly**. I checked for his pulse then I took him to the Hospital Wing. I just reacted without thinking. I didn't want Draco to be hurt." He said, explaining for the fifth time.

"I highly disapprove of you getting into trouble on the second week of the new school year. If you were in my House, you'd have detention until the winter holidays." McGonagall said. "However, I am not. I'll leave your punishment to Professor Snape. I ask only you give Mr. Weasley a proper apology when he wakes."

"Madam Pomfrey said he'll be up by tomorrow, but he'll rest in the Hospital Wing until his headache is gone." Snape told her. "I'll send Potter that way after breakfast. As for his punishment," His eyes, black and cold, stared into Harry's. "Detention with me for the next seven Saturdays."

McGonagall nodded, pleased. "As Deputy Headmistress, I'll write your parents about this incident." She said.

After being dismissed, Harry walked straight towards the Slytherin dormitories. He caught the eyes of Hermione Granger as he was walking, earning a strong glare so he quickly looked away.

Madam Pomfrey, the Healer who worked the Hospital Wing, had scolded him before any professors were called. Neville had already been there, too. Crabbe and Goyle left as soon as Ron was deposited onto a bed. He had hit Ron hard enough to knock him enough, but luckily there was no damage to his brain. "Don't ever hit someone there, ever again! You could kill someone!" She said. Harry decided not to mention that he already knew that. She then ushered him to a seat to wait, called Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall- for him, and for Ron.

Harry worried about what his parents would say.

In the Slytherin dormitories, he was as ignored as he normally was when he entered. Draco was sitting by the fireplace, chewing on his thumbnail with a book open on his lap. Crabbe and Goyle were playing chess, staring at the pieces dully.

When Draco saw him, he shrieked. "Harry!"

Once he was close enough, Draco tugged him onto the seat next to him. Crabbe and Goyle abandoned their game and leaned in close.

"What happened?" Draco asked.

"I have detention with Snape for seven Saturdays, and they're going to write my parents about what I did." Harry said. "Ron will be fine, though."

"How'd you knock him out?" Crabbe grunted.

Harry reached across and placed his hand on the side of Crabbe's head, where he had hit Ron. "You can knock someone out by pretty much hitting them anywhere on the head, but this area especially. Hit hard enough here, and you can kill them. There's other spots, too, but this is the most effective. I hadn't hit very hard, just enough to knock him out." He explained.

"Cool." Goyle said.

"Why'd you hit him?" Draco asked.

"He was going to punch you." Harry said. "I saw him raise his hand."

"Idiot. Crabbe and Goyle are the ones who handle things like that." Draco scolded. The two boys nodded in agreement.

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'd do the same for them, if I saw someone try to hit them." He said, truthful. He  **liked**  Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. They were  **his**  friends. He hadn't even thought about harming them in any way for the past day!

Crabbe and Goyle looked touched. Draco smirked. "You knocked Weasley out without using a spell!" He cackled delightedly. "I bet there's going to be Hufflepuffs avoiding you!"

"Can you teach me?" Goyle asked, swinging his left arm around in a circle.

Harry smiled. "Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you hit someone in the head hard enough, you cause their brain to move. It isn't totally solid, it's like jell-o, so it moves and smashes against the side of their skull. As a result, they go unconscious. Or, worst case scenario, they die. It depends where you struck them and how hard. Harry, a eleven year old boy, doesn't have that strong of a punch. He did, however, hit Ron in the side of the head in the point where if he had a strong punch, he would've killed my favorite Weasley. Good thing he's not strong! If Crabbe or Goyle took that punch, who knows what could've happened lmao
> 
> Also, whenever I become extremely angry or freaked out, I 'black out' for a second and when I come to, I'm doing something like attacking someone. Once, when my brother tried taking my phone out of my hands, I blacked out and kicked him in the nuts. Harry saw Ron raising to punch Draco, someone who he considers his friend, and he reacted by basic instinct when he sees someone he considers 'his' threatened. Not saying he sees Draco as a possession, but Draco is Harry's friend. So, Ron went to punch Draco. Harry saw him move. Harry reacted, his mind going to what he knows about the human body to strike. Whenever you go blank as I described, you either want to lay as much harm as possible or even kill, so Harry went in for the most!
> 
> I hadn't originally planned on Harry hitting Ron, but it popped up in my head and I was like...man, you know, you've been wanting to develop some shit and this fits what you're wanting so...let's go for it...and I did. Scared I suck so bad at writing it didn't come across right, though, but HERE'S TO HOPE (as usual, hope that I don't suck is my lifeline)


	5. Chapter Five

"I'm sorry." Harry said.

Ron just stared at him. "They said you hit me." He said. "Sure you didn't, like, jinx me or something?"

"No. I punched you." Harry said. "I am sorry. I just didn't want you to hit Draco."

"Malfoy's a total prat, why would you want to defend  **him**?" Ron asked.

"He can be a jerk." Harry concurred. "But he's still my friend. I shouldn't have hit you, though, and I shouldn't have hit you where you did. Sorry you have to sit here now."

"That's fine." Ron brushed it off. "I'm over it, to be honest. You've got detention, don't you, with Snape?" Harry nodded. "Good enough for me. Just dealing with him for class is suffering enough. But, you know, next time you punch me I'll hit you back."

Harry nodded. "Okay." He said. "Here, I brought you Chocolate Frogs." Crabbe and Goyle had stolen them from a Hufflepuff (a House full of victims, it was beginning to seem, the poor fools instead tried to stick up for themselves instead of telling a professor that they were being attacked) so Harry had taken a few for Ron, as part of his apology.

He placed the packages on Ron's lap. The boy picked one up. "The professors didn't tell you to do this." He said.

"If I didn't feel sorry, I wouldn't have apologized, even if they had told me." Harry said. "I thought this would help show you that I am sorry. My mum once told me when you break a plate and you say sorry to it, it won't fix itself. You have to use glue or cast a spell to fix it. So, just saying sorry wouldn't make up for hitting you." He explained, completely truthful.

Ron nodded, already opening one of the packages. "No one's come to see me." He said. "Except for you. It's lonely."

Harry frowned. He had thought Ron was friends with a few of the Gryffindors. He knew Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle would all come to see him if he was in Ron's place. "What about the two who were backing you up?" He asked.

"Seamus and Dean are closer to each other, and they just like the opportunity to fight with Slytherins." Ron said. "Well, Neville said good morning to me when he left today, but he's awfully skittish and never says much."

He stared at Ron, biting off the head of a Chocolate Frog. Harry couldn't explain the strange emotion that ticked in his chest. He had never felt it before, but he knew he wanted to somehow help Ron Weasley. He just didn't know how. Harry thought about his own friendships. He thought he could be friends with the other Slytherins, if he actually bothered to talk to them, but he simply never did. They didn't seem very interesting and he got all he wanted socially from the three he was always around.

"You should try talking to Longbottom more." Harry decided. "He could just be shy. Maybe he really wants to be your friend, but he doesn't know how."

Ron shrugged. "I'll try." He said.

Harry smiled and stood up. "I'm off to class. I'll bring you more Chocolate Frogs later." He said, then left.

He did bring Ron more Chocolate Frogs later that day, only that time Ron had a visitor. He was laying in the bed, at that time, groaning at his headache. Granger, a Gryffindor in their year who had also got on Draco's bad side earlier that day in potions, was sitting by his side and telling him about homework.

"Tell her to shut up. All she's talking about is bloody school." Ron groaned.

Granger huffed. "I'm  **trying**  to help you!" She said, cheeks flushing red. Harry set the Chocolate Frogs on Ron's lap.

"Your apology is candy? Great, now you're going to give him cavities." Granger scolded.

"Cavities are extremely rare in magical children." Harry told her. "No one knows why, though."

"What's a cavity?" Ron asked.

"It's something what happens when you eat too much sweets." Harry explained. "Bacterial growth that causes tooth decay."

Granger sighed. "I guess." Then, "What are you doing here?" She questioned, suddenly harsh.

"Just to give Ron some candy I promised him." Harry said. "Goodbye." He then walked out of the Hospital Wing. He felt their confused stares as he left.

* * *

Detention with Professor Snape consisted of cleaning cauldrons and vials, or sitting at a desk in complete silence. On the third Saturday, Snape had him write endless lines of 'I won't cause harm to any of my peers' on many feet of parchment, his hand pained and cramping. But very simply, every detention left Harry on edge. He punched the wall as he left and saw blood pouring down of people's eyes, swore he heard screams echoing. He had stabbed the desk repeatedly with his quill until the tip snapped and some ink stained his hand, after he had done the lines. Snape simply stared at him, obviously pleased he was getting to Harry.

He had gotten two letters of scolding; one from Remus, another from his mum and dad. Remus had told him he shouldn't ever resort to violence unless he had no choice, as had his parents in a slightly different way. Sirius, however, had told him ' _If you thought he needed to be punched, he probably deserved it. Next time punch someone when there are no witnesses and deny all accusations!_ '. Harry didn't think Ron had  **deserved**  it, though. He could've been nicer about preventing Draco from being hit.

Either way, seven weeks (seven Saturdays of detention) had passed surprisingly fast. It helped that, three to four times a week, Draco dragged their small group to the library to do homework or study. Typically, Harry got into paper battles with Crabbe and Goyle, until the librarian had gotten angry at them and banned them from the library for two days. Harry always finished his homework on time regardless, but he started to finish it long before anything was due. Draco had him read ahead and, sometimes, when a lesson began in class, he already knew what the teacher was talking about.

Of course, in Transfiguration, he still had to take notes to avoid McGonagall's disapproval.

Harry enjoyed Herbology more than his other classes, and he thought Potions was alright. Most of his dislike towards his schoolwork came from the fact it mostly consisted of notes and reading- purely theoretical. Sometimes, in Transfiguration, they'd get to learn a spell, which they'd work over and over on for multiple lessons. Such as the spell to turn the matchstick into a needle, it was something they went over for five straight lessons. He'd learn a spell by reading with Draco and want to actually cast it, but there was little opportunity to even try.

He thought Defense Against the Dark Arts could be his favorite class, if it wasn't for Professor Quirrell stuttering three times with every other word. Harry could enjoy reading for that class, as most of it involved with learning gruesome facts about magical creatures or Dark magic. It filled his imagination and his dreams, but Quirrell's rambling and stumbling and goddamn  **stuttering**  made Harry want to smack the man's head on the stone floor until it was half-mush and a delightfully bloody mess.

Harry had accidentally mentioned wanting to jam a book down Quirrell's throat to see if he could swallow it, and his friends had  **laughed**. Not even Sirius had ever laughed at anything that came out of the  **abnormality**  of his mind. It was nice and, though the thoughts certainly didn't go away, it was easier to push them off knowing he could say them out loud to his friends and they  **wouldn't care**.

* * *

Walking out the Great Hall on Halloween night, Harry smiled at Ron and waved. The red haired boy, after being released from the Hospital Wing, took to hanging around Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger. It had removed the strange feeling Harry had ever since he had visited Ron that first time after hitting him. They never did talk, though, and most of their contact was long distance.

"The bloodtraitor hangs around a mudblood and the Longbottom buffoon, it fits." Draco said.

Harry looked at his friend and smiled. Crabbe and Goyle were battling over the pastries they'd taken from the table before leaving, and it made Harry smile wider.

He looked long enough away from in front of him, that he walked into the back of someone tall and hard like stone. For a second, Harry had thought he'd walked straight into a wall.

"Watch where you're going, Potter." Harry blinked and stared at older boy in front of him, a seventh year Slytherin he half-recognized from the common room.

"Sorry." Harry immediately apologized.

The boy had raised his hand but, Harry, hadn't thought much of it. In quicker than a flash (far quicker than Ron had been), the hand had shoved itself forward and slammed into Harry's chest. Harry hadn't any time to brace himself and he fell backwards, falling straight onto the ground, hard. A shock raced from his butt up to his back.

Annoyance, simmering, exploded into anger when the older boy sneered and walked away.

_Harry wanted to stand up and rip out the boy's internal organs with his bare hands._

"Are you alright?" Draco was there, concerned. He grabbed his hands and helped him stand up.

"I'm fine." Harry lied, trying to not grit his teeth. He shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched them, digging his nails into his palms.

Draco didn't look as though he believed him, but he nodded. Crabbe and Goyle were both glaring at the older boy's back.

"That's Terrence Higgs." Draco told him. "He's the House Seeker, not the first time he's pushed people around. I can tell my Father-"

"Draco." Harry cut him off.

"I'm going to tell Father." Draco hissed. "Higgs should know better, you're with me! We do have to get him back, in some way."

Harry shook his head. How  **he**  wanted to get back at the Slytherin teen involved sharp blades and a room that created an echo. "Let's get back to the dormitory." He said.

* * *

He hadn't been able to sleep. Harry laid in his bed and, about five minutes before minute, he decided he had to unleash the simmering feeling in his chest. It had calmed down from seething anger, fairly quicker, but the annoyance wouldn't go away. All the techniques Dr. Bates had taught him did nothing. He only knew one way to release it.

It might've been impulsive of him, but Harry left his bed and opened his truck. On top of some assorted items, sat his wooden box. He picked up the box and sat it on his bed, pulling up the top, and examining the shiny mental instruments inside.

Dr. Bates would tell him to count until he didn't feel annoyed anymore. He'd already counted to 5,281. He'd suggest closing his eyes and simply imagining it, but just  **imagining** didn't feel  **enough.**  He had the desperate urge to feel blood on his fingers, warm intestines between them waiting to be stretched in a game of cat's cradle. Dr. Bates would tell him just dealing with what he felt would be better than what he was thinking of doing.

Harry thought a dead familiar wouldn't be noticed very much. There had to be someone's cat or rat or toad running about the corridors. If he didn't find anything, then he'd just come back. It'd be a sign! But if he  **did**  find something, then it'd be another sign- one telling him to continue on with what he was thinking. Harry smiled and pulled out a scalpel and small bone saw. He'd like to dissect, but if he did, his family would likely guess it was him. He'd be messy, so messy that people would believe the familiar had been attacked by something inhuman. He hadn't been messy in  **years**. ( _everything was so neat, in dissections, which was pleasing but Harry didn't want neatness even if there was a chance no one could guess it was time. he wanted blood and more_ _ **blood**_ )

He crept out of his dorm room unnoticed and exited out of the common room unseen, there was no one awake. The fireplace wasn't even lit. It had been very cold and Harry, still in his sleeping robes, felt the burn of the cold October air.

Out in the castle, Harry crept out of the dungeons and into the higher corridors. Whenever he heard a footstep, he glided in the opposite direction. He walked through shadows and merged with stone walls. Filch himself had passed by a hall where he was hiding. Harry felt accomplished, and he continued on.

He heard barn owls hooting and the noise of a rodent scuttling, but he saw nothing. His annoyance was still there. He continued. "Just a little while more," He said. "Then I'll go back."

Harry hoped it wouldn't come to that. He  **needed**  this. ( _He needed it, like he's never needed something before and he didn't know why_ ) If he was in a better state of mind, he'd be wondering why the event earlier had bothered him so much. He should be able to brush off such things, he swore he has of similar things in the past. He  **wasn't**  thinking the way he should be, logically and calmly, he let the urges that always ticked in his horribly abnormal head simply takeover, limiting his control.

He saw a tail brush against the corner of a wall, disappearing to the right. Harry slowly walked up the stairway and moved forward, ears carefully paying attention to the rich silence for any hint of another living creature. When he peaked over the corner, he saw Mrs. Norris slowly walking forward.

Harry pushed himself into a sprint, bare feet soundless on the stone floor. He swiped up the cat before it had time to realize him as a threat.

He remembered when he was a child, when he'd catch a stray cat. They'd struggle some, but never make a noise and always let him have his way. He never understood it. He only half-expected for Mrs. Norris to do the same. It did.

The cat scratched angrily at the back of his hands, but Harry just pushed her onto her back. He shoved his hand into his front pocket and pulled out the scalpel.

Harry jammed it repeatedly into the cat's stomach. Blood spurted out and dyed her food, delicious warmth seeped over his fingers and under his nails. He pulled out the scalpel and swiped it, over and over again, vertically, on the cat's neck.

All of it, together, lasted barely a minute. Yet, Harry found he was absolutely calm.

"Shit." Harry cursed. "I'm so stupid." He insulted, hissing. He stood up, examining himself. He had blood soaking his hands up to an inch past his wrists. Not too bad, there was a bathroom nearby, he remembered, he could clean up.

Harry looked down at Mrs. Norris, whose head was nearly severed off and laying in a pool of its own blood. He was briefly surprised he had managed such damage with only a scalpel, then he sighed. There'd certainly be some investigation into the death of this cat, but the crime would be blamed on a student who had a proper motive. Someone always caught doing something they weren't supposed to do because of the cat. Doubtful it could be linked to him. His family hadn't known any of his messiness, only the neatness of his dissections. He'd be fine.

He had to repeat it multiple times in his head.

There was a girls' bathroom further down the corridor, though no one used it. Harry knew a ghost lurked inside, but he had no care for that. He used one of the sinks to clean his hands, and the scalpel. He held up the bone saw he had taken with and wondered why he had chosen it. He sighed and placed it, with the scalpel he reminded himself to disinfect later, into his front pocket.

Harry quickly returned to the Slytherin dormitories, none of the wiser of his temporary disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mrs. Norris! And poor Filch, his cat's dead! FYI I was gonna have Harry kill somebody but I decided against it lmao
> 
> So, did I write that last portion of this chapter well? I feel like it's total shit tbh, but, as usual, here's to hope! This chapter is 2.7k words, too!
> 
> Many mental disorders aren't apparent in childhood. It's considered 'improper' to diagnose anyone under 18 due to this, as teenagers can easily be diagnosed with many disorders which they don't have! However, Harry's been a simmering pot since he was a little boy. He's got intrusive thoughts (inspired by a theory about Eric Harris tbh lmao) and I'm beginning to add hints of the mental disorders he has.  
> He understands that he isn't 'right', but how much does he truly care about being abnormal? How long will he care about being normal?
> 
> ALSO! I might not be able to update as often as I have, I'm getting ready to move and I have to start packing shit up and helping my mom get things together.


	6. Chapter Six

Draco knew Harry kept on saying he was okay, but he wasn't entirely sure. The other Slytherin had seemed tense ever since Higgs had chosen to release his pent up frustration on him, even though it was just a sliver and not nearly as bad as what others received. Harry was clearly effected by it. He didn't seem humiliated, but he seemed furious.

It reminded him of his father, who would smile and remain calm, but his eyes told a story of a waging war and inferno of pain and fire and wrath. Whenever his father was that way, not even his mother could calm him down. Draco, of course, was able to. He could calm his father down to smiles and gentle laughs from a twisting smile and eyes that might as well be red, but he couldn't even begin to reach Harry.

When Draco woke up in the morning, he went straight to Harry. He could easily write his father to do something bad to Higgs' family, but Harry didn't want that. He desperately wanted to, because Draco had standing and anyone with him had standing, too. There was a reason why he never befriended any other Slytherins except for the three he already had by him, because he had no interest in stretching his protection far and wide.

Harry seemed better than he did last night, Draco thought. He didn't seem to be restraining any anger and he didn't seem tense, not in his shoulders and not in his eyes. "Good morning." He called.

"Good morning." Harry returned, smiling. Draco still thought Harry could be a bit strange, like when he smiled. A lot of times, it didn't reach his eyes, even if his eyes were pleasant. "I'm going to take a shower." He said then disappeared into the bathroom, carrying with him an armful of things Draco hadn't realized he'd been carrying.

Draco watched him go and sighed. However much Higgs had gotten to him yesterday, Harry seemed a lot better. A good night's rest does a lot, Draco thought.

"He's very strange." Blaise Zabini commented.

"So?" Draco snapped. Crabbe and Goyle were beginning to wake up, but it'd take a few minutes before he could point them towards Zabini. He could be patient, no one was going to call Harry **strange.** Except for himself, of course.

"It's disturbing." Zabini said. "Whenever our eyes meet, I can't tell if he's even thinking anything or if he's thinking about killing me."

"That's stupid." Draco spat.

"Whatever." Zabini shrugged. "You'll see it."

Draco glared. "Yeah, whatever." He mumbled. He gathered up his own things and went into the bathroom, pretending to ignore Zabini's stare.

* * *

 

Harry walked between Crabbe and Goyle up to the Great Hall, Draco leading the why while he complained about something Zabini did. He wasn't listening that closely. He was preoccupied with muffled worry of getting caught.

Logically, he knew his family couldn't say it was him. They've never seen his early works, before Dr. Bates, before St. Mungo's, before his mum had ever found his stash. Mrs. Norris hadn't been a dissection! ( _it was what he dreamed of last night, he had forgotten how much he truly loved simply delving in_ ) Harry knew no one would else would assume he might be behind it, because he's never gotten into trouble with Filch. No one Hogwarts knew anything about his **oddities**. He was **fine**.

He still worried, until he was sitting at the Slytherin table and choosing what to eat for breakfast.

"Malfoy."

Harry glanced up, to see Terrence Higgs staring down at Draco. The image of Mrs. Norris flipped through his eyes before it morphed into Higgs, insides stabbed into mush and neck hanging to the side.

"Go away, Higgs." Draco said. The older Slytherin scowled, but walked towards the head of the table with his friends.

"I don't like him." Harry said.

Crabbe and Goyle perked. "Can we punch him?" Crabbe asked.

"Merlin, Crabbe, not even you two could take Higgs." Draco groaned. "Try again when you're tall enough to look at him in the eyes, and know how to duel."

"I know how to duel." Crabbe grunted.

"Me too!" Goyle added.

"Is he strong?" Harry asked. "Is that way he's rude? He can get away with it?"

"He's a fair Duelist, from a semi-prominent family, his father's high up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he's the Slytherin Seeker. Altogether, he's got enough to let him walk over mostly everyone else." Draco explained. "But he's a 6 and I'm a 10, which he obviously forgot last night."

"That's why he came to you right now." Harry realized. "He wants to make sure you don't do anything against him."

"Because you're mine, and he shouldn't have messed with what belongs to me." Draco nodded. "I could do something, but you don't want me to."

"It's meaningless." Harry said. What he **wanted** wasn't what Draco could achieve.

Draco shrugged.

Crabbe and Goyle muttered amongst each other before Goyle proclaimed. "I bet we could take Higgs."

"Merlin! No, you two can't! Give it up." Draco groaned.

They both looked extremely annoyed at the thought that they couldn't 'take' Higgs. Harry thought it was rather amusing.

Near the end of breakfast, before they were about to leave, the Headmaster rose. The Great Hall fell silent. Harry forced himself to pay attention, wondering if he had anything to do with Mrs. Norris.

"Last night, tragedy has struck Hogwarts." Dumbledore said. "Abigail Bishop, one of our Hufflepuffs, has been killed. She was found nearby the first floor girls' bathroom. We don't know the criminal behind this heinous act, but they will be found."

Harry blinked. He certainly hadn't killed a girl last night.

"Mrs. Norris, our dear feline caretaker, was also found dead last night nearby Miss Bishop. We believe whoever was behind her death, is also behind Mrs. Norris'." Dumbledore continued on. "As a result of these crimes, all students are not to go anywhere without a companion. Curfews will be posted in your common rooms, which will remain in effect until the criminal is caught."

"A murderer walks the halls," Draco whispered ominously. "How fun!"

Harry stared at the blond boy. All he could think of is if anyone realizes he'd killed Mrs. Norris, they'd assume he had killed the girl, too. _Wonderful._

* * *

 

Abigail Bishop was a muggleborn Hufflepuff, a fifth year. Her parents were contacted immediately and her body had already been shipped off to them, a story being established for the muggle authorities around her death. Students were given permission to leave Hogwarts to attend her funeral. The entire House of Hufflepuff seemed to mope around for an entire week, as though just one girl gone had effected them all.

Mrs. Norris was buried on school grounds. Harry, and his friends, hadn't attended the funeral- nor had many Slytherins. Filch had been spent the last week looking half-dead, as though the world had taken from him the only thing he cared about. Harry supposed he should feel guilty, watching the man walk around lifelessly, but he didn't quite care. Over the incident, he was more concerned about being connected to Bishop's death.

"Good riddance to the mudblood." Draco said, on the same night the girl's friends had returned to Hogwarts after attending her funeral.

Harry tilted his head. "Isn't it bad to speak ill of the dead?" He wondered.

"Mudbloods are worthless, Harry, I've told you that before. I don't get why anyone cares she died! It keeps her from ever mixing with good magical blood." Draco said. "Right?" He looked at Crabbe and Goyle. Both boys nodded in agreement.

"My mum is a mudblood." Harry said. "I don't think she's worthless."

"Fine, whatever." Draco rolled his eyes. "But all other mudbloods?"

"I suppose." Harry said.

Draco smiled, pleased. "I might make a good pureblood out of you, yet."

"I'm not a pureblood, I'm a halfblood." Harry said, turning back to confusion.

"Marry a pureblood or a halfblood, and your kid will be considered a pureblood." Draco said. "Well, a halfblood **if** the halfblood is the daughter of a proper pureblood line and a mudblood. I guess halfbreeds are alright, too."

Harry nodded. "How can I be a good pureblood, though, if I'm not a pureblood?" He asked.

"You can act like one." Draco explained. "Got it?"

Harry nodded, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wouldn't even BELIEVE this shit.  
> Okay, check it. I use this site called PirateBay to download movies and the occasional game. Well, I wanted to play Sims for the first time. I was EXTREMELY stupid and chose a torrent that was not guaranteed to be virus-free, and downloaded something bad onto my computer. Google Chrome won't work and some weird shit has been going on. So, basically, I probably shouldn't still be using my laptop (but here I am!). I have NO idea what the virus is even doing, but I've removed everything it might decide to use for wrongdoing. I can still write on it (with ease) so I can still write and publish new chapters, obvs, so no worries! However, I'm going to have to save up to get a new laptop if I ever want to watch Netflix off of my phone again :'D
> 
> Lesson I've learned? DON'T BE A FUCKING DUMBASS, AHAHA GONNA FUCKING KMS
> 
> With that explained...
> 
> This chapter is so fucking short. Only 1.4k words. But the next chapter should totally be longer. Idk when it's going to be completely, though. I'm still packing, my computer acts weird here and there, and I'm battling a plague of fleas that're attacking my dogs. It should definitely be done by 7/28, sooo...Look forward to it :D


	7. Chapter Seven

_Chapter Seven_

Lily, sometimes, wished she had another child. Part of her begged for it, a son or daughter that she could bond with and find all the things she couldn't find in Harry. A child that's sweet, without a bloody imagination and without anything **strange** about them. Part of her was scared she'd just have another child like Harry, if she was simply a bad mum and she'd just raise another child who liked to collect bones and another child to sent to a psychologist.

Dr. Bates had once told her it wasn't her fault that Harry was the way he was. "Consider it a mutation." He said. "Harry's oddities do not stem from you or your husband, otherwise he likely never would've been born." He chuckled. "No, Mrs. Potter, what makes him different is, very simply, a mutation of what his parents gave to make him."

She wasn't entirely sure. It didn't remove her fear. She lied to her husband and slipped herself doses of an Anti-Pregnancy Potion every morning, vials prepared by her dear friend Severus who offered no judgment, only worry and an attempt to help. Lily didn't know what she would do without him. Her husband didn't approve of him and she was never able to even introduce him to her son, but he was her closest friend.

Severus had written to her after first meeting Harry, questioning why he preserved organs. She had kept much about her son from him, but she couldn't bring herself to lie when asked. Not to her dear Severus. She explained as much as she could in a letter. They'd met up in Diagon Alley, where she cried and told him she wished she could make Harry **better**. She wished she could be like James and Sirius, and Remus, who were all so welcoming of Harry and so loving without any hesitation or worry. She wished she could just not be so scared, or at least knew what, exactly, she was so scared of.

"Lily, it isn't your fault." Severus told her. "You mustn't blame yourself."

"I feel like it is." She said. "He's my **_son_**. Where did I go so wrong that he likes killing things?" Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were stinging, her sleeves wet with tears and snot. "I'm his mother, I should've been able to tell what was wrong immediately. It was by pure accident I had learned. Severus, imagine how much worse things would be if I hadn't just happened to go into his room?"

"Things that could've happened don't concern the present, or the future." Severus said. "Just look to the years ahead, to making sure he grows into a good wizard. You're a wonderful mother, Lily, you shouldn't be so scared."

"I'm scared he's going to kill someone." Lily whispered. "Or just hurt them. No one else seems to think about what he might do. They just think he's a brilliant little boy. Sirius bought him these charts of the human body years ago, and he dissects cadavers and this dead little animals…Sirius puked, once, and Harry didn't even care. He was too busy cutting into a dead puppy. A puppy!" She wiped at her cheeks again, feeling tears begin to drip again.

Severus comforted her and took her home to the cottage in Godric's Hollow, telling her not to hesitant to come to him for anything about Harry. "I'm his professor and Head of House. I'll keep an eye on him." He promised. It did make Lily feel better.

In November, **_things_** happened.

Mrs. Norris and a Hufflepuff girl were found dead. Lily was always half-expecting news of missing familiars to reach them at some point, she couldn't bring herself to be surprised at hearing of the brutal murder of Filch's familiar. **_But the girl_**. Her name was Abigail Bishop, a muggleborn whose parents probably never imagined they would lose their child in such a sudden way.

"Do you think Harry killed the girl?" Lily asked James. "But how? I made sure he didn't pack any of his…" She struggled. "Medical kits." She decided, thinking them as weapons and toys of sadism.

"Harry wouldn't kill anyone." James immediately dismissed. "But, the cat, I don't know."

"If he killed the cat, he probably killed the girl." Lily snapped.

"Merlin! At least pretend you don't think he'd kill someone!" James snapped back. "Lily, he's our son! I'm going to think the best of him because I have no proof otherwise!"

"We should at least write to Dumbledore and tell him Harry had killed Mrs. Norris." Lily said.

"There's no proof against him. If we tell him that, he might expel Harry. Do you want that? I don't." James said, shaking his head. "No. We shouldn't tell anyone what we think. It'd just get Harry into trouble."

"He should be getting into trouble for this! James, if he killed that girl-" Lily tried again.

"Stop saying that! He didn't kill the girl! Now, just drop it, Lily. He doesn't have any of his kits, you said you know that. I'm going to work." James said.

James had probably thought Lily would drop it at that, but she _wouldn't_. She loved her son, and she didn't want him expelled or sent to Azkaban. She also couldn't stand by and watch him go unpunished for his actions. At the very least, she had to tell Dumbledore.

It had taken a few days to wait for the right chance, when James left with his friends to tool around London for a few hours. The few hours would become the entire day, Lily knew, and it was the best opportunity.

"My girl, what brings you here?" The Headmaster of Hogwarts greeted her as she stepped through his fireplace. All Order members had access to it, to be used for emergencies.

"Nothing Order related." She said. "I have something to tell you, about Harry."

The Headmaster frowned, but nodded. "Alright. Take a seat." He said. "Tea?" He offered.

* * *

 

"Okay, let me get this straight." Sirius leaned against Remus, raising his glass of cheap muggle bear up slightly. "You think Harry killed a girl, but you lied to Lily because you're scared she'll tell someone. And you're pretty sure he killed her because you'd sent him some of his medical shit, but you also never told Lily about that."

"You lied to your wife to protect your son." Remus corrected. "Sounds better." He said.

"Sounds better, but…Fuck, Prongs." Sirius shook his head. "Moony! What're we gonna do? I don't want Harry sent to Azkaban. He's too young for that!"

"We can't tell anyone." James said. "I just," He swallowed. "I just don't want Harry killing someone else. He'll get caught!"

Remus sighed. "We should be worried over the fact Harry had probably killed someone, not about him not getting caught." He said.

"If he killed the girl, it doesn't matter now. She's dead. What does matter is making sure he doesn't lose his." Sirius said. "If anyone finds out he killed the girl, Merlin knows what could happen. You-Know-Who likes people who'll kill and the Daily Prophet said the girl was a muggleborn. Wizengamot would definitely sentence him to Azkaban, might even give him the Kiss because no one trusts the Dementors anymore. A rumor could pop up as him a Death Eater in training and they'd definitely give him the Kiss."

"So, we keep it secret. Then what? Harry killed once, and we all know he likes killing." Remus said.

"Killing people are different than killing animals." James said.

"Read a few muggle books. They got these killers called serial killers. Like, they kill more than three people." Sirius swallowed a gulp from his glass. "They kill animals before they kill people."

"By that logic, hunters would all be serial killers." Remus said.

"Hunters are different. Do you see Harry hunting them? No, he likes guts and shit." Sirius said. "Well, not _shit_. You know what I mean."

James ran his hands through his hair. "What do we do if Harry kills someone else?" He asked.

"We can either make sure he doesn't kill anyone again, or help him learn not to get caught." Sirius said. "I don't know about you two, but I don't want him to get caught. I say we teach him out to dispose of bodies and leave no evidence."

"They said they haven't got any clues about the girl's murder." Remus said. "So Harry might already have that down, or just good luck."

"Merlin." James groaned. "We're talking about teaching my kid to kill people!"

"Not kill them." Sirius said. "Teaching him not to get caught."

"If Peter were here, he'd tell us we were all crazy." Remus said.

The three wizards fell silent.

"That's a lie." Sirius said. "If Peter were here, he'd probably be freaking out on Harry's behalf. He was never good at lying to authorities, y'know. Every time we've gotten caught doing something we weren't supposed to be doing, is because of Peter."

"Don't speak ill of the dead." Remus elbowed him. "Especially Peter. He died to keep Harry safe."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Sirius sighed. "He was a good man. Brave where it counted, more loyal than I ever thought he'd be, to be honest with you both."

"Do you guys think that, _that_ prophecy has something to do with how Harry is?" James asked.

"No." Remus said.

Sirius agreed with a nod of his head. "Dumbledore said that it was proven wrong." He said. "I believe the guy."

"How was it proven wrong, though?" Remus asked.

"It was proven wrong by another prophecy." James said. "One that said some kid is going to be the Dark Lord's vanquisher."

"He also said Harry wasn't the only possible kid." Sirius said. "Besides, you'd think the Dark Lord's _vanquisher_ would have, y'know, some innate morals. I see Harry joining You-Know-Who before ever killing him."

James groaned. "Thanks for that, Sirius. Now I'm worried about him becoming a Death Eater!"

"If Harry became a Death Eater, I doubt any of us would ever do anything." Remus muttered. Neither of his friends heard him.

"Point is, I doubt the prophecy has anything to do with how Harry is and I doubt Harry's the kid the prophecy was talking about." Sirius said. "It doesn't matter in this, okay? What we have to be talking about is how to keep Harry from getting caught."

"Just hope he doesn't kill anyone for a while. We can talk to him during the winter holidays." Remus said.

James nodded. "We'll do that, then." He said. "We'll wait then talk to him about it then."

"So, we help him become a serial killer." Sirius said. "Neat."

"Shut up, Sirius." James said.

"We're morally bankrupt." Remus declared. "Let's order shots of whiskey."

"Waitress!" Sirius screamed as soon as James took down their privacy wards. "I want me some whiskey!"

"Me some whiskey…" Remus muttered. James smiled, the mood lightening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter Pettigrew died in 1981 after being kidnapped by Death Eaters. He was interrogated for information on the Potter's and the Order of the Phoenix, but he had refused to give any information. The Dark Lord himself was not involved with the interrogation, and the Death Eaters weren't at all skilled with the Mind Arts...So Peter held against them and died due to his injuries before he was broken enough to give any information. The Order deemed his death a sacrifice to keep his friends safe, specifically Harry himself, who was one of the possibilities for the prophecy at the time. You're going to start seeing a lot of pieces begin to fall as the story continues. There's more at play here than Harry's 'strange' mind.
> 
> I've got shit planned nicely up to Harry's second year, everything after that is pretty debatable and unknown at this point. I expect it to be plotted out soon, though.
> 
> p.s. I wrote this chapter out to 2 Live Crew with my cat asleep on my left arm, tell me if it effected the quality any lmao  
> p.s.s. I'm stuck using Microsoft Edge and I desperately miss Google Chrome :'D


	8. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eight_

"Merlin, it's nice to be home." Harry whispered to himself, walking inside of his bedroom. His godfather, trailing in after him, brought in his trunk. He hadn't realized how much he actually missed the cottage, it was strange. He wasn't very used to missing anything. He thought of his friends and decided he did miss them, too. He knew he'd be delighted when he saw them again, at the end of the holidays. As delighted he was to sleep in a room all to himself, in a bathroom he didn't have to share, to take a shower without someone else taking one, too, not very far away in a separate stall.

"Hated my mum, but it was always nice to be back in my room." Sirius said. "Actually sad to leave it behind when I left."

Harry glanced at him. "You left home early, didn't you?" He asked. Sirius nodded.

"I did. My mum and I didn't see eye to eye." He said.

"Draco told me you named me your heir." Harry sat down on his bed, the mattress sinking slightly to his weight.

Sirius set the trunk down at the edge of his bed. "How does he know?" He asked, then shook his head. "He's a Malfoy, of course he'll find a way to know everything." He muttered.

"It's true, then." Harry said.

"Yeah." Sirius nodded. "My mum didn't even want me to be heir, wanted it to be my brother. My dad, though…" He hesitated. "He and I had our differences, awful lot of them actually, but he wanted me to be his heir. In his own, weird, distant pureblood father way, he loved me. Didn't let my mum disown me and made sure I inherited everything when he died."

"How did he die?" Harry asked.

"Orion Black died a young age for a wizard, like most Black's. Bad luck, actually. Never seems to be from natural causes, always from some nasty accident." Sirius said, folding his arms. "Them and whoever they're married to, I swear. My dad died for my brother, though. It's a story."

Harry kicked his legs forward before dropping them back down, banging against the side of his bed. "Can I hear it?"

Sirius seemed to hesitate for a second, before nodding. He sat down next to Harry, his weight forcing the mattress down where he sat and up where Harry was.

"My brother was a Death Eater. Technically, he still is." Sirius began. "He tried to betray You-Know-Who years ago, but he got caught. His punishment should've been a very painful death. You-Know-Who, though, knew our dad. Pals at Hogwarts, the way I understand it, just dad never joined him. He decided to be merciful and went to our dad, telling him a bit what happened. Dad offered to take my brother's place, but You-Know-Who said he'd still have to take something away from my brother. He'd live, though. He killed our dad. My brother lived."

"Where's your brother now?" Harry asked. "What did the Dark Lord take away?"

"Regulus Black is handicapped and living at 12 Grimmauld Place, taken care of by the Black family House Elf, Kreacher." Sirius said. "I visit him, time to time. Mostly, he just mopes around and blames himself for our dad's death. Dad didn't have to die though, it was his own choice. I doubt he'd ever change what he did, too."

"The love of a parent." Harry said. He wondered if his parents would do the same for him.

"I've seen mother's sign themselves over for their children, father's slit their own throats and do simply unspeakable things so their child would live." Sirius said. "My dad died rather painlessly and my brother lost his ability to walk, the payment for joining You-know-Who and betraying him. No one else has ever lived after being revealed a traitor, not to the Dark Lord."

Harry rubbed his tongue over his teeth. "Voldemort." He said.

"Don't say his name." Sirius scolded. "It's a bringer of bad luck, alright?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Sirius."

* * *

Harry peaked at the _Daily Prophet_ over his dad's shoulder.

**_MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH IN HOGWARTS MURDER CASE_ **

"What does it say?" He asked.

"The Hufflepuff girl that killed a bit ago was," James began, but then stopped. He shook his head. "Nothing for a child to know." He said.

Harry frowned, but nodded. He went to his seat and sat down. He decided then he missed Draco talking gossip, Crabbe and Goyle silently battling over food or over who's stronger. He decided to occupy his thoughts with the girl, wondering what had happened to her that his dad hadn't wanted to tell him.

He knew most things what could be done, that's considered bad. There was theft, but that wasn't very **bad**. Even little children knew what theft was, he had. Torture and murder, obviously, that had occurred to the unfortunate Hufflepuff. He'd partook in it against animals many times in his life, already, so it wasn't that.

"Was the girl raped?" Harry asked, stunned. He had to admit, he had never considered having sex with someone after killing them. He thought about it, for a second, but then sex itself didn't appeal to him yet. "Why would someone have sex with a dead body?" Wait, he was sure there was a term for that!

James coughed into his mug of coffee and Lily gaped.

"They didn't have sex with a dead body." James corrected. "She was, um, alive." He said.

"Oh." Harry blinked. " ** _Oh_**! I remember the term. Necrophilia." He said. When his mum winced and his father sighed, he wished, again, that his friends were there. Crabbe and Goyle probably would've asked what it was, or if it was any fun, because they weren't paying enough attention to connect the term to the context. Draco maybe would be mock-disgusted, before asking a question or two.

"What made you think of having sex with a dead body?" Lily asked.

"It's just what I thought of." Harry said. "They killed her, didn't they? I had thought they'd kill her then have sex with her."

Lily sighed. "Sweetheart, most people don't like having sex with dead bodies." She said.

"Most people don't like killing people." Harry said.

"What do you think of sex?" James asked.

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Lily yelped. "James!"

"I haven't hit puberty." Harry said, simply, feeling oddly embarrassed. He, for some reason, didn't like being asked what he thought of sex by his father. Strange, he'd have to consider _why_ in the future. Right now, though, there was fruit and waffles to eat.

"So, sex isn't, or is…what, exactly, to you?" James tried again.

"Everything I read makes it seem clinical, like hand surgery." Harry said. "I'm assuming puberty will change that."

His parents did stare at him for a few moments in silence, until his mum changed the topic.

* * *

In the Wizarding World, religion was extremely diverse. Some families were still polytheistic, worshiping old gods long-forgotten by others. Others were Christian, or followed Judaism or Islam, like many muggles. There were also those who worshipped the Sun and Moon, or followed what was seen as ancient myth of an ancient civilization, or Magic itself. Commonly, however, for those who simply didn't have a strong religious preference or a holiday to celebrate in late December, they celebrated Christmas. It was a time of gift-giving and receiving, of family and friends and love, of bright decorations and pine trees.

Harry's own family celebrated Christmas due to his mother's Christianity herself. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to go to Midnight mass or deal with much things related to the Bible. It seemed she celebrated the holiday purely out of childhood nostalgia and the desire to have something to celebrate. His godfather's family had apparently been extremely diverse and he had experienced many holidays, as Black's had no qualms with converting into whatever religion they decided they liked. Remus' family had celebrated Saturnalia and his father's family celebrated whatever holiday they felt like that year.

"When you're older, I think I'll take you to Indonesia! You haven't lived until you experienced Mawlid." Sirius told him, a few days before Christmas.

"Might be a few years, I think he's still at Hogwarts during the day." James said.

Harry hadn't known was Mawlid was, but he just moved on without much care.

Christmas Eve arrived with as much flourish it did every year. Harry wrote letters to his friends wishing them well. Draco celebrated Saturnalia and Christmas, due to his parents' conflicting religions, and Crabbe and Goyle were both in the 'don't really care' sector and simply celebrated Christmas as a reason to celebrate something. His mother insisted on a large breakfast and his father didn't go to work, Sirius and Remus wasn't going to leave the cottage until Christmas ended, too, taking up the guest room's bunk bed.

"What do you say we go Christmas shopping?" Sirius suggested after breakfast.

"Sure." Harry agreed, helping his mum gather the dirty dishes.

"Early Christmas gift." Sirius said. "But limit at a thousand galleons, got it?"

"Please don't spend that much." Lily sighed. "He does have gifts coming tomorrow! If you go and buy everything he wants, good chance is he'll get what James and I have gotten him."

"I know what everyone's gotten him, don't worry." Sirius dismissed. "Come on, kid! Get dressed and we'll go to Diagon Alley."

Harry fiddled with an assortment of scalpels laid out across the top of his dresser before he changed out of his pajamas. He still remembered Mrs. Norris, but his worry over the incident had faded quickly. His parents didn't seem to suspect him, either, so he didn't bother to try to force himself to be anxious. He carved an 'H' onto the side of his dresser right after he'd slipped on his favorite pair of robes, ones he'd missed dearly. Pure black and two sizes too large, the sleeves went over his hands past the tips of his fingers, and it was _very_ warm.

He and Sirius took the Floo into the Leaky Cauldron.

"'ello." Tom the Bartender greeted, looking tired. He was filing the glass of a half-asleep man, slumped over the counter.

Sirius waved merrily and took them straight into Diagon Alley.

Harry did enjoy shopping with Sirius immensely. His godfather never hesitated to splurge and always bought him whatever he wanted, regardless of what it was. Their first stop had been _Flourish and Blotts Bookseller_ , where Harry selected the few books he didn't have on the Healing Arts, a book titled _Beginner's Guide to Art_ on pure whim, and an assortment of others on his favorite topics. It wasn't like a muggle bookstore with a proper selection on the sciences and maths, but it did have a few books. It wasn't like Harry would get through them very quickly, anyways.

In another shop, Harry got packets of seeds to new plants. He had decided, after attending Herbology for some time, he was perfectly prepared to start handling magical plants. Sirius didn't hesitate to purchase what he needed to grow snargaluffs. He thought he'd give growing them a try, though according to his readings they could be quite vicious, it could be fun. He couldn't help but imagining successfully growing a large number and tossing them at unsuspecting people, who'd undoubtedly be shrieking and come out heavily injured.

He also bought some shiny little things that were sharp, useless junk that he liked when he saw them, and a few hats. Sirius chose him dragonskin gloves that had polar bear fur on the inside, which were extremely cozy and immediately Harry's favorite pair of gloves he owned. Sirius had to take the ones he was wearing previously, stuffing them in a random bag.

Then, something happened Harry didn't quite expect.

Sirius directed Harry into Knockturn Alley.

"Why are we here?" Harry asked.

His godfather looked down at him. "I know what you did to Mrs. Norris." He said. He seemed about to say something else, but pulled back. "Harry, don't think I'm upset with you, but I think you need to learn how to be careful and not leave behind any evidence."

"Do you think I killed the girl?" Harry asked, worry beginning to boil like water left too long on the stove. He knew it was easy to guess he'd killed Mrs. Norris, because it was true and he had a record of happily dissecting animals, but could someone truly assume he'd kill a human, too?

"I did." Sirius admitted. "Until they said the girl was raped. You're too young for that. I think. Right?"

"Dad asked me about sex my first morning back." Harry said. "I don't care about it."

"Yet." Sirius said. "Promise me that when you want to have it, you'll get your partner's consent."

"Okay." Harry agreed. Rape seemed very troublesome and boring. He'd prefer cutting into a girl _through_ her vagina, or inserting a knife- or perhaps a blunt object with a tip that'd transform into spikes- through the opening. He wondered if puberty would change the way he thought about the matter so much, that he'd change his mind. Still, he supposed he wouldn't rape someone for Sirius' sake, regardless of how he might change.

"Anyways," Sirius said. "Kid, I want you to know I don't care what you choose to do. You could start killing people every other night, you're still my grandson. I don't want you sentenced to Azkaban or expelled from Hogwarts. And Knockturn Alley is the perfect place to get the things you need to learn how not to get caught."

He ushered Harry inside of a short, square building. The interior wasn't as bland as the exterior, but certainly as dark. Rows of shelves and dim oil lamps left little light to move through the air. When he breathed in, he felt like he was inhaling dust. He saw a good number of things sitting on the shelves, though mostly books and dirty jars.

"Hello! I'm Black, here for what I wrote for!" Sirius yelled.

A short, dirt-caked man appeared from behind a shelf. "Hello." The man returned, voice low and rough. "I apologize for my appearance. I'm cleaning out the basement." He said, walking closer to them.

"So, what I wanted?" Sirius asked.

The man grinned, revealing bright white, but extremely uneven, teeth. He reached over Harry's head and grabbed a thin, black book. "The Book of Blood." He said. "Two hundred galleons, _Auror Black_." He seemed delighted, grinning even wider when Sirius pulled out a large pouch and handed it over.

Shaking the pouch three times, the man nodded and held out the book.

"Go on, take it." Sirius told him.

Harry didn't hesitate, too curious.

The book had the same width as his pinkie, bound in black cloth. Harry assumed underneath the cloth was wood because after he knocked on the cover, out of curiosity, it felt like he was knocking on a thin wall.

"The Book of Blood was written centuries ago," The man said. "It's a short read, but very informative." He cackled.

"Thanks." Sirius said, now ushering Harry out of the shop quickly.

The moment they were outside again, the door shut behind them. Sirius took the book from Harry's hands and shoved it into one of the bags. "Don't let anyone see the book." Sirius said. "It was made illegal by the Ministry of Magic in the 18th century."

"Why?" Harry asked. "And if it's illegal, why did you get it for me?"

"It has a great number of painful spells, some supposedly invented for medical purposes, but are all Dark magic." Sirius said. "Removing skin or bones, the likes, and some spells to remove traces of magic and to keep people from hearing or seeing anything…Gruesome."

Harry blinked. "I thought I wasn't supposed to hurt people." He said.

Sirius sighed. "Harry, I love you, you're my godson, but don't expect me to believe you aren't going to one day. A cat is a cat, but it's still a form of murder." He said. "This book should help you not get caught, yeah? And, maybe, show you some things to do what you want, um, cleanly without getting yourself dirty." He looked a bit pale.

"It's okay." Harry said. He reached out and took his godfather's hand. He could tell this wasn't easy for his godfather to say, and perhaps even do, but he appreciated the gesture. He felt almost numb to the situation (as he seemed to for many things), though there was a strong strum of excitement at reading the book and happiness that his godfather would always be by him. He smiled. "Thank you, Sirius."

"No problem, kid." Sirius said. "Come on, let's take you home."

Harry had always hoped that he'd become **normal** , in some way. Dr. Bates encouraged the thought, telling him he could move past what he was (figuratively) cursed with. He'd never had a problem with being the way he simply was, but felt if he embraced it, he'd lose his family, the people he _cared_ for. His mum, his dad, his godfather, Remus- frightened they'd abandon him if he never changed, if he continued with his thoughts or, worse yet, _simply gave into them_ , bringing a blade to some unlucky soul's throat and digging it in a deep scratch, left to right.

It was freeing to realize Sirius wouldn't leave him. It gave him hope that maybe the rest of his family would stick to his side, too. If he never changed, if he gave in, either way. He couldn't guess how he'd change in the future, how could he? He'd been sure of things before, only for them not to work the way he had thought they would. The world wasn't predictable, nor was he, or any other person on the planet. The rest of his family could reject him, but he'd have Sirius.

The happiness that surged in him didn't dim for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, is it just me but the quality of my writing is going to the shit?
> 
> Lily is supposed to represent morals and ethics above love. Severus is her ally there, though he holds love above both he only loves her, so he chooses to follow what he must to support her. Sirius, without hesitance, is love above all else. He's aware of all what could happen, but he loves Harry, so he'll choose him. He also loves his friends. Who knows what he'd do if he had to choose between them? James is a father above all else, choosing Harry over Lily. Remus is aware, but he also chooses love above all else, though likely not to the same extent as Sirius.
> 
> The next 11 chapters are planned out. I can't see the plan for them changing much. Harry's first year will end with the tenth chapter, his summer holidays will stretch from the eleventh to nineteenth chapter. Also, SPOILER! The Dark Lord will be making an appearance in chapter 14. Something awfully bad is going to happen to a side character lmao.


End file.
